


Crazed

by seductivembrace



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in season 4, just after the curtain closed on "Harsh Light of Day". Spike is ready to reclaim his ring, but gets sidetracked by Oz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was simple, really. 

He’d spent months getting inside the Slayer’s head when he’d been in Sunnydale before, so it was easy to deduce that she’d want the bloody pouf to have his ring. He could have told her that Angelus wouldn’t want it; he was too busy being a martyr to ever experience another moment of happiness. 

Then again, she would have probably destroyed it if he had, and that just wouldn’t do. Never mind that he’d have to go toe-to-toe with the Slayer again with the telling, and one humiliation in a day was enough. Better just to track the ring’s progress out of the city and reclaim it before Angelus got his grubby mitts on it. 

The Slayer couldn’t go – she didn’t own a car, for one thing. Neither did her friends, for that matter. He’d spent weeks keeping an eye on all of them – discreetly, of course – in between his search for the Gem of Amara, and they were always walking everywhere. 

Everyone, except the wolf, that is. 

The witch’s boyfriend had a van. Just the thing to make the trip to LA and back. 

Making him the most likely person to carry out her wishes. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike nearly lost the van in the maze that was Los Angeles’ streets, but happened to catch a glimpse out the corner of his eye and pulled the Desoto over to the side of the road. He leaned his head out the window and caught a whiff of… something… and his eyes narrowed at the boy climbing down out of his van. 

Then he smiled as another idea came to mind. 

He’d always wanted a pet. And, if the lore was true, if properly trained, werewolves were exceedingly loyal, the perfect companion. With the gem back in his possession, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt while teaching the pup his place. That it would take his mind off his troubles, that he was once again alone and on his own, Spike was quick to deny. 

He killed the engine and pulled out his cigarettes. Lit one up then got out to lean against the hood as he waited for the boy to draw near. 

“Kinda disappointed, mate. Like takin’ candy from a baby, you being trapped in this here alley.” He smirked when the boy froze several feet from the entrance, how his eyes darted to the front door of the building he was trying to reach. “How about you give me the ring I know you’ve got tucked away in your pocket, and I’ll let you go with a warning.” 

“No you won’t.” 

“No, I won’t. Good to know you’re not completely stupid. Now, come on, hand it over.” 

Spike extended his hand and waited. His brows drew together when the boy started to pant, then grabbed his abdomen and seemed to keel over in pain. 

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered when the fallen figure looked up, his eyes now black. 

He flicked his cigarette away and rushed forward, clipped the boy on his jaw before he could complete the change. He’d obviously underestimated the youngster’s control over his demon, a mistake that could have proven costly. 

“Better be worth the trouble, pup,” he muttered as his hands patted down the unconscious boy’s pockets looking for the gem. “There you are!” 

He extracted the ring from the boy’s front pocket and slid it on his finger before anything else could happen – say, Angelus finding him lurking outside his home and about to make off with one of the Slayer’s friends. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

It was the cold that woke him. He opened his eyes and realized two things at once – he was naked, and he appeared to be lying on a pallet inside some sort of cell. 

“Weird.” 

“Ah. Good. You’re awake.” 

Oz lifted his head in search of the voice and found Spike standing on the other side of the bars smoking a cigarette. 

“Where am I?” 

“In a cage.” 

“Yeah. I got that. My clothes?” 

“Gone.” 

“Er, yeah. I noticed that too.” 

“You’ll get ‘em back. Maybe. If you earn them.” 

“Earn them?” 

“Uh huh. Today marks the first day of your training.” 

“Training?” 

“Yep. Gonna be my ‘daytime guardian’… among other things.” Spike murmured the last under his breath.

Oz’s brows went up, but he made no comment. 

Spike grunted. He rather liked that the boy didn’t make with useless chatter. There was fear, yes. Who wouldn’t be scared finding themselves naked and locked away inside a cage, the captive of an evil vampire? But, there was also curiosity, and the eyes staring at him blazed with intelligence… and, for once, sanity. 

He walked over to the cage and unlocked the door. 

“Well, come on then. Time to put you through your paces.” 

Oz stood and gave a passing thought to his nudity, then mentally shrugged and stepped out of the cell. 

“Over on the mats.” 

Oz looked at Spike, saw him jerk his head in that direction and turned and walked off. It wasn’t like he could actually say no. Not without suffering some type of bodily injury. 

Spike joined the boy after toeing out of his boots and shrugging out of his duster. He went one further and stripped down to his jeans. 

“You ever do any fighting, outside your demon’s need to hunt?” 

“Not really.” 

“Well, it’s about time you learned.” Spike motioned the boy forward. “Attack me.”

Oz just stood there. 

“Come on. I don’t have all bloody night. Attack me.” 

“You’re serious.” 

“Of course I’m bloody serious.” 

“Okay… um? How?” 

“Punch me. Try to take me to the mat.” 

Oz shrugged and charged. 

And promptly wound up on his back with Spike straddled over his middle. 

“Pitiful. Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.” 

For the next few hours, Oz found himself repeatedly sprawled on his back with Spike draped over top of him. There’d been times when he felt the werewolf rise up in him while they fought, eager to test its skill against the vampire. A first for him, changing without benefit of the full moon, if he discounted the incident in the alley. It was through sheer will alone that he was able to suppress the urge. That, and Spike’s uncanny knack for sensing when he was about to lose control and lending his hand – usually in the form of a fist to his face. 

He was sweaty with exertion and panting slightly, flat on his back yet again, but he wasn’t scared. Even with Spike’s fangs poised dangerously close to his neck. In truth, he was actually enjoying himself, and had been for nearly the entirety of the lesson. He didn’t even mind that he ached all over, and in places he thought never to ache, feeling a sense of accomplishment, and strangely, contentment. 

Now, with the two of them unmoving, Oz was painfully aware of the fact that he was still naked… and apparently, half hard. 

“Huh…” 

Spike grinned, not pretending to misunderstand the boy’s predicament. As he’d settled, and gotten into the grove of their sparring session, Spike hadn’t been able to prevent the slight flaring of his nostrils as the boy’s pheromone levels began to rise. After a while, it had been all he could do to concentrate on what he was trying to teach his new pupil. 

Especially when he would have much rather flipped him over and shown him who his rightful master was now. 

“It happens.” 

Oz nodded as if that explained everything. 

“You got a name?” Spike asked. 

“Oz.” 

“Oz?” 

“Short for Osbourne.” 

Spike got to his feet and extended his hand. “Well, come on, _Oz_. I’m feeling a mite peckish, so it’s back to the cage for you.” Spike locked the boy in his cell then pulled on his shirt, shoes, and duster. “Don’t bother trying to get free, not even your Were can break the bars.” 

Oz sighed and nodded. Eyeing the bars, he figured as much. 

It didn’t mean that he didn’t try as soon as Spike left, concentrating until he felt the bones in his face begin to rearrange as the werewolf took hold. He threw himself at the steel bars again and again; they rattled and shook but refused to give way, even under preternatural strength. 

Growling low in his throat, he paced the small confines of his cage for several minutes before reluctantly crawling off to the pallet in the corner to sleep. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The next day brought more of the same. He was locked away in his cage unless he was training with Spike or handling nature’s call. Spike brought him food, but it was his comment that when the full moon arrived he’d have a proper meal that had Oz cringing inwardly. 

He was nervous when he first walked onto the mats, but inside a few minutes, he’d shrugged off his embarrassment over his unclothed state and tried to absorb what Spike was attempting to teach him. Again, he was forbidden to change and perhaps even the odds. 

“You’re not always going to be out of the limelight. You’ve gotta channel the werewolf’s strength without actually bringing it forth.” 

As explanations went, it was a good one, so Oz struggled to tap into his demon’s abilities, its strength and agility, its skill as a hunter. 

By the end of the second day, he’d even managed to surprise Spike and knock him off balance. It was just the once and he’d certainly paid for it, but it had been worth it to see the vampire’s shocked expression, and he’d preened – though later, back in his cell, wondered why – at Spike’s grudging, “Not bad, pup.” 

When he woke the next morning, he was covered by a blanket. 

By the end of the week, he had his jeans back. 

Two weeks to the day that he’d been taken captive – having kept track of the days with hash marks in the dust-covered ground of his cage – Oz was sitting next to Spike on the couch watching television. He scarfed down a really rare hamburger under Spike’s watchful stare, determinedly ignoring how the meat still seemed overcooked somehow, even if it was flavored with something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something delicious. Addictive. 

He polished off his dinner and licked his fingers. 

“Good?” 

Oz hummed what could have been an affirmative as he balled up the paper his burger had been wrapped in and stuffed it back into the bag. He tossed the bag onto a nearby table then leaned back with a contented sigh, snuggling deeper into the cushions. 

He missed Spike’s smirk as his eyes closed and he began to doze almost immediately, his body sated with food after a hard day of training. 

His thoughts turned to Willow – as they always managed to just before he fell asleep – and what she had to be thinking at his prolonged absence, whether or not Buffy had called Angel to check up on him, if they were looking for him even now. He still had no clue as to where he was; the building he and Spike were staying in seemed almost impervious to outside noise. Given the size of the building, he figured they were in what had once been a warehouse – Spike obviously had a penchant for the things – so he concluded they had to be in some type of city, maybe even Los Angeles still. 

Oz wasn’t sure how long he slept before he felt Spike nudge him awake and lock him back in his cage. He stripped out of his jeans in a daze, ignoring Spike who was no doubt watching his every move, before curling up on his pallet, his blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

He was asleep again almost immediately. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike watched Oz sleep for hours before reluctantly leaving the warehouse to feed. The full moon was coming soon and his time was running out. 

After getting it in his head to take the boy, he’d put as much distance between himself and his grandsire as he could in one night, getting as far away as Albuquerque before he felt it safe enough to stop. Apparently he’d clipped the human harder than he’d thought because the boy had slept the remainder of the night and part of the next day. 

In that time, he’d found them a place to stay, thanks to a favor owed him by a mage he’d helped out in the past. The building he’d chosen had been converted to his specification with a few simple spells. Researching how one went about training a werewolf had taken a bit longer, and he’d had to wing it the first few days. 

Now he was on track, if a bit behind, and he just hoped that when the boy was actually unable to control the change at the full moon, the blood he’d been secretly feeding him will have done the trick. That the werewolf would recognize him as its master rather than an adversary. 

Spike made short work of finding a meal, settling for a vagrant roaming the streets so he could hurry back to the boy’s side. Time wasn’t on his side now, and he was inundating the boy with his scent, going so far as to bunk down with him on his pallet for a few hours each night while he slept. 

“Shoulda just had him and been done with it,” he muttered to himself as he walked back to the warehouse. Everything he’d read on the subject had urged the same thing. That when in their werewolf form, they were little better than mindless beast, unable to rationalize except on the most basic of levels. 

Yet he’d witnessed firsthand that the boy was different. The first night Spike had come back from feeding and the boy had still been in his wolf form. He’d walked to the cage and the wolf had lifted his head, regarding him with eyes that watched him warily, if not completely afraid. 

He’d grunted and muttered for it to go back to sleep. The wolf’s head had cocked to the side, then it had done as he asked, lowering its head back down on his paws, closing its eyes once more. 

It was because of that, plus his own less than pleasant educational experience at the hands of Angelus and the resulting enmity it had caused, that Spike had vowed he’d do things his own way first. Besides which, he’d never been one to follow the rules, and while his impulsiveness and disregard for them may have caused him grief at times, for the most part, his way of doing things had stood him in good stead. 

Far be it for him to change his ways now. 

Back at the warehouse, Spike stripped down and unlocked the cage. Oz didn’t wake as he settled around him, grumbling silently at bedding down on the floor even if it was for a good cause. He shuffled forward until he was flush against the boy’s flank, his erection pressed against the boy’s ass. 

As hard as he was, Spike would have liked nothing better than to ignore his own advice. He’d been celibate since capturing the boy, not wanting to introduce any scent other than his own during such a tenuous stage in his training, and he was developing a severe case of blue balls. 

Spike flexed his hips and could have groaned at the feel of his prick sliding along warm skin. His hand tightened on the boy’s waist and he did it again, freezing when the boy stirred in his sleep. It wasn’t until he’d resettled that Spike reluctantly put some space between them. He took himself in hand and jerked off, grunting when he finally came and ejaculate shot out over the boy’s back and down his hand. 

Grinning, his work done, Spike rose and sought his own bed. 


	2. 2

For the next two nights, Spike treated Oz to more of the same, sneaking into the cage and jacking off against him, not letting Oz shower until after they’d sparred so that Spike’s scent would linger all day. 

On the third night, a handful of days before the full moon, rather than lock the boy away in his cage, Spike snapped a manacle around one ankle, securing the short length of chain attached to it to a bolt hole in the ground, and had him sleep in the bed. Oz had been nervous, his body tense and trembling slightly, unsure what to expect, but had settled down quickly enough when Spike walked away soon after and returned to the couch and his television show. He waited until the boy had gone to sleep before making his way back to bed, stripping off, and climbing beneath the blankets. He barely managed to stifle a groan as he wrapped himself around Oz’s body, the heat emanating from it warming him much better than the sheets ever could. 

Oz barely twitched in his sleep as Spike rubbed himself off against his back, and he smirked even as he grunted his release, pleased that his constant presence had penetrated the werewolf’s natural defenses and no longer saw Spike as a threat. Spike drifted off, curled around the boy’s back, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike woke sometime later, hard. Oz had turned over at some point and was furiously rubbing against him, more asleep than awake, but desperate to get his end away. His grin Cheshire-like, Spike rolled Oz onto his back and settled between his legs. He debated waiting until the boy woke fully before bringing them off, but decided against it – for one, he was too horny to wait – figuring there was time yet for Oz to realize what he was doing and with whom. Besides, Oz was whining so prettily, and who was he to say no to a little begging? 

It was over with far too quickly, in his opinion. But then, Oz had been so close himself, and when he came, Spike could do nothing but follow along in the boy’s wake. His eyes gleamed yellow as he stared at the rapidly beating pulse in Oz’s neck, shown to perfection when he threw his head back while in the grips of his climax. Spike’s fangs elongated, and he knew he had to have a taste, purring his pleasure when the blood burst onto his tongue when he bit deep – magic and power and strength, old as time. 

Spike took only a handful of swallows, and he wasn’t surprised that Oz was awake and staring up at him when he drew away, eyes gone black. Lust, confusion, and wariness battled for dominance as he panted heavily in his post-orgasmic haze. His mouth opened to voice a question, but Spike rolled away to lie on his back. 

“Feel better, yeah?” Spike asked, cutting him off as he reached for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. 

Oz, naturally, remained quiet, but Spike didn’t hold that against him. Before today, Oz had only seen him as lord and master. Spike demanded, Oz gave, no questions… or objections. 

Now the boy had some inkling of what else Spike had in mind. 

There was surprise, and a bit of uncertainty, in Oz’s voice when he finally answered in the affirmative. 

“Good,” Spike grunted. “Better rest up, then. Not going to go easy on you later just because you got your end away.” 

Spike smiled in the darkness when Oz turned on his side and attempted to sleep. By the time Spike had finished his cigarette, the boy had drifted off once again and didn’t even flinch when Spike resettled behind him. 

True to his word, Spike didn’t go easy on Oz when they sparred. If anything, Spike kicked it up a notch, determined to teach him everything he could with the limited time he had left. 

~*~*~*~*~

Mid-afternoon on the first night of the full moon, Spike called an early halt to their sparring session and walked off the mat, grabbed his shirt and shoes and put them on. 

Oz raised one eyebrow but waited for Spike to tell him what was going on. 

“Getting late. Time to hit the streets,” Spike told him as he stood and pulled on his duster. “Your things are in the closet.” 

Spike nodded towards a slim door against the far wall and rifled in his pocket for a cigarette while Oz dressed. 

“Come on,” he muttered around the cigarette held between his lips and headed towards the side door and yanked it open. He stepped out into the alley, Oz on his heels. 

“Get in.” 

Oz responded to the harsh command and quickly opened the front passenger door and slid onto the seat. He was unable to see a thing, given the blackened out windows, and contented himself with closing his eyes and leaning his head against the seat back. 

The loud rumble of the DeSoto’s engine eventually lulled him into a fitful sleep. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw the boy close his eyes. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly and he wondered – not for the first time – if he was making a mistake. By letting the werewolf free rein out in the wild, Spike was taking a chance that he’d bolt. A gamble on his part, but necessary. 

Only time would tell if his decision would pay off. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike sighed and flicked the stub of his cigarette away. Even without a watch, he knew several hours had gone by. There was no sign of the boy, and he had to conclude that he’d made a mistake. 

 _‘Shoulda’ waited.’_  

He’d thought for a moment there at the end that he’d reached Oz, or barring that, had gotten him addicted to the blood he’d been secretly feeding him, thus ensuring his return. 

His fingers brushed over his lips; he could still taste the boy in his mouth. 

Just minutes before Oz had changed, Spike had turned in his seat and drawn him close and kissed him. The boy had remained passive beneath him, neither rejecting nor actively participating – at least until the very end. 

Then Oz had drawn back and cried out, his features twisting in agony as the change began. 

Spike had grumbled at the untimely interruption and climbed out from behind the driver’s seat to walk around to the other side of the DeSoto. He’d opened the passenger door and a few seconds later, Oz, in werewolf form jumped out. Surprisingly, he hadn’t immediately taken off, instead waiting, his head cocked to the side, as if for a command. 

“Well, go on then,” Spike had huffed. “Time for the hunt.” 

Another cock of his head, then he’d loped off. 

Now, sitting on the hood of his car, having chain-smoked his way through his pack of cigarettes to while away the time, Spike cursed long and fluently. Trying to track Oz now would gain him nothing but hours wasted in the endeavor. Frustration made him want to put his fist through something, and he hated that there was nothing around on which to take out his anger. 

Nothing to do but to return to Sunnydale and hope that’s where the boy would wind up. 

He wasn’t giving up yet. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Oz settled into his old routine, as if he’d never been kidnapped by Spike. 

Willow, naturally, had been tearful at his sudden return, alternately hugging him and crying on his shoulder. The gang had each treated him to their own brand of welcome – backslapping and handshakes and hugs all around – and been upset on his behalf while they’d sat in Giles’ living room during an impromptu Scooby meeting, called once he’d shown up at the watcher’s front door. 

Oz had glossed over the intimate details of his capture, saying only that Spike had caught him unawares in Los Angeles and had retaken the ring intended for Angel, then gone one further and taken him hostage. 

There’d been much speculation as to why by the gang, and he’d remained calm in the face of Giles’ probing look and leading questions. Thankfully, he’d made a timely escape because of the approaching moonrise and his need to be locked away in his cage before it happened. 

Though his friends were well-meaning, he had no desire to rehash his time spent with the vampire. As far as he was concerned, it was a private matter, and not open for discussion or dissection, either by them, or by him. 

Better to put the matter behind him and move forward. 

Which was what he was doing now. Talking to Veruca about band-related things, waiting for his girlfriend to show. 

Then she did, and it became awkward. 

So very awkward. 

“You know? I gotta bail. Um, I’ll call you later.” 

And he walked away, leaving Willow and Veruca behind. He missed completely Veruca’s calculating look and Willow’s crushed expression. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

His cage was similar to the one Spike had made for him and Oz locked himself inside and stripped out of his clothes, wrapping himself up in a blanket afterwards. There were still several hours until sunset and Oz settled on his pallet and tried to sleep. But like the day before, sleep just wouldn’t come. 

Instead, his mind replayed his time with Spike, from start to finish. How he’d woken early the next morning after being let loose by the vampire, back in his cell, the werewolf instinctively returning to what it had come to regard as home. 

That alone had freaked him enough to scrounge around frantically for some clothes – Spike’s, and rather large on his slight frame. He’d made a collect call to Devon, who’d wired him some money – no questions asked – for a bus ticket home. 

The change happened sometime while Oz was locked away in his memories. In werewolf form, he paced back and forth along the cage, hating being locked away, unable to roam free, unable to… hunt. 

Suddenly, he froze, and sniffed the air. 

Waited. 

Some part of him recognized Spike as he stepped into view, smoking a cigarette. 

“Can’t tell me you enjoy being locked away in there. What say I let you out?” 

Oz’s ears pricked, almost as if he understood what was being said. A second later, Spike had the lock ripped off and the cage door swung outward. 

“Well, go on then,” Spike called out and made a sweeping gesture with his hand towards the entrance. “People to see, things to kill. Time for the hunt.” 

Spike smiled when the wolf nudged his side in thanks before racing out of the cave. Oz’s howl of delight at being free drifted on the wind, and Spike chuckled. 

 _Soon._  

~*~*~*~*~ 

Oz woke when the sunlight hit his face and he stretched – then froze. He wasn’t alone. Beside him, something gave a sultry moan, and he felt a brush of warm fingers along his flank. 

“What—?” He rose up on his elbows and turned his head to the side. 

“Hey.” 

Veruca smiled. 

“Uh…” 

He wasn’t sure how he’d met up with Veruca, and had only a vague recollection of— 

Spike. 

Spike had come back to Sunnydale, had found his cage. 

Set him free. 

Oz scrambled away from Veruca – ignored her outburst that they belonged together – and ducked into the nearest dorm laundry room to steal some clothes. He’d figured out immediately what she was, and he wanted nothing to do with her. 

They didn’t belong together. 

Not now. Not ever. 

Willow was his girlfriend. The one he was supposed to be with. 

Or so he kept trying to tell himself. 

Spike was gone when he got back to his cage to retrieve his own clothes. He didn’t waste time wondering at the vampire’s motives or the reason for his return. 

He’d promised Buffy and the others he’d help Mrs. Summers at the gallery, and he was running late. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late,” Oz announced as he stepped inside the gallery. The bell on the door clanked loudly in his ears. 

“Oz! Hey!” 

Willow’s greeting seemed unnaturally bright, and Oz mentally winced. He’d hurt her with his abrupt departure yesterday, and he promised himself he’d make it up to her once they were finished. 

“Hey.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze and was gifted with a shy smile. “So… moving?” 

“Yep!” Buffy called out, having returned from the back room. “Mom got a new shipment of artifacts from Africa. A bunch of Chira— Chirwi- something.” 

“Chirawa,” Mrs. Summers corrected, not for the first time. “I’m going to need to move a few things around in here to make space for them, preferably up near the front window. Buffy—” 

“Got it,” Buffy replied, already heading to the front display to remove what was there. 

“I’ll help,” Willow added, following Buffy. 

“Thank you, girls. Xander, Daniel, if you could help me open the crates?” 

“Sure thing, Mrs. Summers,” Xander replied. He and Oz trailed after the elder Summers. 

With the four friends following Mrs. Summers’ direction, it took barely a handful of hours to complete the move and they were now benefiting from her thanks by eating pizza and guzzling coke in the back room. 

Oz allowed the easy camaraderie of his friends to float around him, content to remain on the periphery and listen. It kept his mind off other things, things he’d rather not think about. 

They hung out there for the remainder of the day rather than go somewhere else. Though when the others wanted to head to the Bronze, Oz let them go on without him; he still had another night of the cage to endure.


	3. 3

Spike frowned when he walked up to the cave that housed Oz’s cage and heard not only the boy speaking, but someone else as well. And their voices were raised in anger. He tossed away his cigarette, annoyed now that his plans for a bit of a chat before the boy changed were interrupted, and strode purposely inside... only to draw short upon spying that the woman standing before Oz wasn’t the witch, but someone else. 

And a werewolf at that, unless his nose was deceiving him. Which he very well doubted.

“Well, well, well…” Spike drawled, drawing two sets of eyes his way. 

“Spike!” 

Spike had eyes only for Oz and was pleased to see pleasure mixed in with the other expressions – surprise, confusion, worry, guilt – that flitted briefly over his face. 

“Spike? Who’s Spike?” the girl sneered. 

“It’s not who I am, but what I am that you should be worried about,” Spike snarled, lunged and wrapped his hand around the girl’s throat, ready to tear her head from her shoulder.  A roll of his head and his demon came forth— 

“Spike?” 

Spike’s turned, drawn by Oz calling his name. His eyes narrowed as the boy moved towards him. 

“Mind telling me why you smell like this bint,” Spike growled, ignoring the girl’s feeble attempts to get free, how she gasped, trying desperately to drag air into her lungs. 

“She… she tracked me down last night…when I… I didn’t know… I mean…” Oz shrugged, unsure how to explain Veruca’s presence. 

Spike tossed the girl aside and closed the distance between him and Oz, dragged the boy in his arms. On some level, he registered that Oz offered up no resistance and actually seemed to take comfort in his touch. He leaned down and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

When Spike would have taken things further, he felt Oz stiffen in his arms. He leaned back and saw that the boy’s eyes had gone black, and he sighed and reluctantly stepped away. 

The growl emanating from the girl sprawled in the corner drew his attention and he smiled, eager for the coming fight. He was surprised, however, when Oz beat him to the punch, leaping forward to intercept the werewolf bent on doing him harm. 

Not that it could, not with the Gem of Amara on his finger, but Spike couldn’t help but be pleased at the thought that Oz was trying to protect him. So, he leaned back against the wall and watched as Oz made short work of his opponent. Smirked when it was over and Oz stood over the dead werewolf and howled his victory to the sky. 

Felt a piece of him melt when Oz trotted over and nudged his hip for approval. 

“A win like that deserves a reward, I suppose,” Spike chuckled as he scratched behind Oz’s ears. “Well, come on then. Night’s still young.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike was petting Oz as he went from fur to bare skin beneath his fingertips. He was still awake an hour later, his nose buried in the boy’s neck when the witch showed up. 

Her gasp was overly loud in the quiet cave; it woke Oz immediately. 

“Spike… hey…” 

Oz smiled shyly, eyes only for him, Spike was happy to note, and couldn’t resist leaning forward for a kiss. 

“Oz…?” 

 _Bugger_ , he thought, as the boy stiffened in his arms and abruptly sat up. 

“Willow!” 

Oz made to stand but realized his unclothed state at the last second. By the time he had crawled over to retrieve his pants, Willow was long gone. Sighing, he turned to see Spike glaring at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Oz told him. His shoulders slumped dejectedly as he felt himself pulled in two distinctly different directions. The calm he’d felt lying in the vampire’s arms was gone in the face of his girlfriend’s heartache. “I’ve got to go. Willow, she…” 

Spike’s expression hardened as Oz slipped into his shoes and made to leave. _He’s actually going after the witch_ , he thought, _rejecting… me._ _He’s rejecting me!_  

“Oz,” he practically snarled, standing up. 

Oz was oblivious to Spike’s dark mood, intent only on making things right with Willow. He had to find her, explain. 

He paused though, as he reached the entrance to the cave, glancing over his shoulder to see Spike standing there. The next words that came out of his mouth surprised him, surprised the vampire too. “Wait here?”


	4. 4

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, staring at the entrance to the cave as if that alone would bring the boy back. 

He hated waiting; it just wasn’t in his nature. To help pass the time, he dug around in his pockets until he came up with his smokes and lighter, quickly shook one out of the half-crumpled pack and lit up. He drew deeply on the cigarette, hoping the rush of nicotine would do its job and calm his nerves, while he paced back and forth in the close confines of the cave. 

“Sod this!” he muttered and angrily flicked his cigarette away and headed out after the boy. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Oz ran after Willow, preternatural senses easily picking up on the despair that clung to her, the salty tang of her tears. She had a good head start on him and he poured on a burst of speed to help narrow the gap. 

He felt bad for hurting her. Wanted to apologize, explain. 

_“Maybe you just don’t wanna admit what happened to you. Maybe you just wanna pretend like you’re a regular guy.”_

Oz stumbled but quickly caught himself, continuing on until the next remembered bits of conversation with Veruca came to him. 

_“Or you’re a wolf all the time and this human face is just your disguise.”_  

He stopped altogether, staring off in the distance Willow had fled. 

_“I can help you, Oz. You’re scared. I was, too. But then I accepted it. The animal, it’s powerful, inside me all the time. Soon, you just start to feel sorry for everybody else because they don’t know what it’s like to be as alive as we are. As free.”_  
  
_“Free to kill people?” he asked. “I won’t do that. You shouldn’t—”_

_“You don’t understand. But you will. You’ll see that we belong together.”_  
  
_“No,” Oz denied. “I know where I belong.”_

It hadn’t been with Veruca. It wasn’t with Willow either. 

Neither one had understood what it meant for him being the Wolf. Veruca had been right that he was the Wolf all the time, but not to the extremes she had taken it; Willow just wanted to shove him in a box for three days out of the month and deny the Wolf’s existence. 

And he’d gone along with it. Why wouldn’t he with his girlfriend staring at him with wounded eyes? Never mind the Slayer with her alert gaze that raised the hackles on his neck every time they crossed paths. 

Spike had understood though. Had understood his hate for the cage, his need for the hunt. The vampire had taken him deep into the forest and Oz had remembered feeling so free after the change. He remembered trembling with adrenaline, eager to be off, to pit his skills against the various predators of the woods. 

He’d tested his speed and agility against the smaller creatures. Exalted in the fact that he was easily able to run them to ground. 

Then he’d turned to bigger prey, eager to test his strength. 

Even now, days later, he could still taste the thrill of victory in his mouth from when he’d taken down the grizzly. 

Spike had given him that – an outlet for the demon inside him. One that hadn’t compromised the person he was. The soul he knew he still possessed. 

Oz sighed and gave up chasing after Willow. Though he loved her – and part of him always would – she had no place in his life. Not with what he’d become, with what he now finally embraced wholeheartedly. 

He was the Wolf. All the time. 

Nothing would ever change that. 

Turning away from his former life was hard, but the steps got easier the closer he got to his dorm room. Packing didn’t take long; he didn’t do anything other than stuff clothes into his duffle and grab his guitar. When he turned to grab his car keys off the dresser, Willow’s picture stared at him accusingly. 

But that wasn’t why he froze. 

“Come on in, Spike,” he called out softly, hands hovering above his keys, not bothering to turn around. He’d forgotten about the ring when he’d pleaded with Spike to wait for him at the cave. 

Other than the soft swish of leather, the vampire made no sound as he crossed over the threshold through the open door. 

Oz picked up the frame and ghosted his fingers over Willow’s face. Behind him, he could hear Spike bristle. 

“Going somewhere, pet?” 

Oz smiled slightly and put the picture aside, turned around to see Spike staring intently at him. His eyes dropped to where the vampire was looking, taking in his packed duffle and guitar case. 

“I’m leaving.” 

“Oh?” 

“I can’t stay here. I don’t—I don’t belong here anymore.” 

“Do tell.” 

Oz frowned at Spike’s tone. He looked up at the vampire and was surprised to see something in his eyes besides anger. Hurt… fear, maybe. 

“I need to stop by the cave first, though,” Oz told him, one corner of his mouth turning up in some semblance of a smile. “I asked this vampire to wait for me there.” 

“Did you now? Tricky thing, that, getting a vampire to listen.” 

“I see.” 

“Well, come on then. Be happy to see the back side of this town, myself.” 

Oz nodded and bent down to grab his things. The picture of Willow caught his eye again. He turned away and saw Spike standing impatiently by the door. 

“I should probably leave a note. If not, they might come after me.” 

“First one comes, is the first one dead.” 

“Spike—” 

“Fine! Write your bloody note,” Spike snapped. 

Oz grabbed pen and paper from his desk and sat down to write. For the longest time, he just sat there, unsure what to say. 

In the end, he wrote just three words, then folded the paper and scribbled Willow’s name across it. 

“Come on. Let’s go,” Oz said as he stood, grabbled his duffle and guitar, and left his room without a backward glance. 

Hours later when Willow knocked on Oz’s door then let herself in when she found it unlocked, the two were well on their way, racing up Interstate 5, on their way north. 

Neither heard her hesitantly call out his name as she stepped inside, saw how her face fell when she caught sight of his missing things or how she broke down and cried, clutching Oz’s note in her hands. 

_I’m sorry. Goodbye._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for nekid_spike's October number challenge. I wound up with Spike (of course), Oz, maze, and candy, though the last two were very loosely interpreted (if you squint, you’ll see them).


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